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Bust Your Confidence Part 2
The Story Crowpaw’s POV “Can I talk to you for a moment, Fireheart?” I asked before we began our training session. “Sure,” he replied, sharpening his claws on a nearby tree. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m quitting Glee Club, too,” I meowed. “I haven’t quit Glee Club,” he mewed, looking surprised. “Well, you might as well have. You’re never there, and everyone wants to hire Longtail. I tried to talk some sense into Featherpaw, but she’s gotten into that angry phase that she-cats sometimes have. I have to be honest, it’s hard being on the Special Guard when all the other toms are making fun of you.” Fireheart took a deep breath. “Have the strength to stay with them a little bit longer. You’re a gifted performer, Crowpaw, and you can’t let go of that. If you do, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. Trust me, I know.” “It’s just not fun anymore,” I muttered, looking down at my paws. “Can we just train now?” “Wait, Crowpaw.” I could see that spark in Fireheart’s green eyes that he got when we performed really well at rehearsals. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. It’s called the Acafellas.” Bramblepaw’s POV “Hey, Tigerclaw,” I greeted my mentor when the other Special Guards and I were finishing up our training for the day. Most of the other toms had left the training hollow, so it was just me and Old Grouch-Tabby. “What do you want, Bramblepaw?” He eyed me suspiciously. I was used to that, though—almost every cat looks at me like that instinctively. “I heard there’s a vacancy in your acapella group,” I meowed. “I’d like to offer my services.” He didn’t say anything; he just looked intently around the training hollow, like he usually did after practice. He called it his “mental planning” for the next training session, both with me and the Special Guard. “You saw that instrument I stole from Twolegplace,” I went on. “It’s called a guitar. I learned how to play it, and, actually, I’m a really good singer.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “So, all the leaders will be coming to the meeting, right? Including the she-cats? And there’s a ton of she-cats when you sing at other stuff, right? Not just apprentice she-cats, but warrior she-cats and queens and the like?” Here’s what you should know about me: I’m not like every other cat in McKinleyClan. I have potential for being a real singing cat, not those smelly Glee Club apprentices. And I’m also tired of only considering she-cats from my own Clan as potential mates, let alone apprentice she-cats. Why, the other day, Leafpaw said she was going to stop acting like my mate! “You might be part of the Special Guard,” she had growled, “but when it comes to hunting, you stink like crowfood. The future father of my kits needs to provide for us.” Young she-cats will claw you in the face and make you feel terrible about yourself. But warrior she-cats are amazing! There was a she-cat older than me I met at the last Gathering, from a different Clan. She was nice and funny, and she looked great, too. I think she kind of felt the same about me, especially when I told her I could play rock-and-roll Twoleg music on the guitar. She, plus several other good-looking warrior she-cats I’ve run into, were all the proof I needed. I started a trade-off with the other Clans: I went to their camp and cleaned all their dirtplaces for them. In return, I got some nice fresh-kill, a good workout from going back and forth between the Clans, and a chance to meet some very nice potential mates, all of them older than me. And it helped the McKinleyClan apprentices as well; because I was in such a good mood, I felt less like beating them up all the time. “When do we start rehearsals?” I asked Tigerclaw. Out of nowhere, he flipped me over, and I found myself on the ground under his paws. “Listen to me, you fox-hearted rogue,” he snarled. “My chance with Spottedleaf is hanging on by a claw, and that claw is Acafellas. If you mess this up, I will claw your eyes out, feed them to the rats, kill the rats, and throw them in the river. And if I find them washed up on shore, I’ll eat them myself. Do I make myself clear?” I nodded, cringing away from his bad breath. “Good,” he spat. “We’re rehearsing at moonhigh. Don’t be late.” Fireheart’s POV I plucked a few chords on Bramblepaw’s guitar, watching as the two apprentices danced. Crowpaw, being part of New Directions, was relatively fine with the steps, but Bramblepaw was hesitant about it, resulting in a couple of collisions and snarling between the two toms. I sighed, hoping that this private lesson with the new Acafellas would pay off. “Crowpaw, my bowels have been looser,” growled Bramblepaw, pointing out Crowpaw’s rigid following of the steps. “You two have the steps down,” I meowed. “You just need to relax. You guys ever watched baseball?” “You mean where those Twolegs swing that stick called a bat around?” asked Bramblepaw. “Yeah,” I mewed. “And if you’ve ever seen them warm up, they swing the bat around slowly, right? Nice and slow and even. And when they actually start playing, it’s fast as lightning. That’s what you guys need to do—at practice, relax and go through the dance slowly, and then you’ll be really to dance quickly at the actual performance.” Crowpaw and Bramblepaw nodded slowly. “Pretend that you’re at your performance,” I continued, a little more confident this time. “But the world has slowed down. People are cheering and watching you in awe in slow motion, which means you have to dance in slow motion.” They started dancing the steps in a humdrum matter. “Look at all the beautiful she-cats out there,” I remarked. The two toms, especially Bramblepaw, had to hold themselves back from dancing faster. We practiced this slow-motion dance routine for most of the training session. When it was almost time to wrap up, I started strumming the guitar again, and the two toms danced at normal speed, this time with no trouble. “That baseball thing sure was good, Flame Shoe,” meowed Crowpaw. Bramblepaw purred in agreement. Hollypaw’s POV I had just finished eating a nice fat shrew and was burying the bones when I saw Featherpaw and Mothpaw approaching the fresh-kill pile. “We need to talk to you, Hollypaw,” meowed Featherpaw. “It’s of the utmost importance.” I responded by rolling my eyes. What Featherpaw called “the utmost importance” often ended up being that she needed me to give up my solo and give it to her. But why was Mothpaw with her? Perhaps since she was so shy, Featherpaw got her to back her up? But then the golden tabby stammered, “It’s St-St-Stormpaw. He’s practically a she-cat.” “It’s obvious you like him,” added Featherpaw. “We just don’t want you to get hurt by feelings he can’t…reciprocate.” “Look,” I sighed, burying the bones under the dust, “just because he wears Twoleg accessories doesn’t mean he’s, well, not a potential future mate.” “He wore a—what do Twolegs call it?—a corset on the border patrol this morning,” mewed Featherpaw. I shrugged. Maybe a corset was meant for Twoleg females, but why couldn’t cats of all genders wear it? “You can do better, Hollypaw,” murmured Mothpaw. “Really?” I asked. “Can I? There aren’t many toms wrapping their tail around mine—or yours, for that matter. Nobody notices us! Hello? We’re in Glee Club! And I’m tired of being lonely, aren’t you?” Featherpaw hung her head low. “Stormpaw is sweet to me. He likes who I am, and I like what I feel when I’m around him. And he’s in our group, he understands what we’re going through! Maybe that’s not enough for you guys, but it’s enough for me.” Stormpaw’s POV Yawning in boredom as the Cheerios finished their routine on top of the Twoleg monster (or Twoleg car, as they called them), I held out my cowboy hat as the Twolegs cheered and threw cat food in all directions. A few open wet food cans plopped in my hat, leaving it excessively filthy with a revolting smell wafting from it. “Blech,” I coughed, pushing the hat over to some Twoleg sprinklers with my paw. I mean, it was nice that Yellowfang and the Cheerios were using one of their frequent performances at Twolegplace to raise funds for Longtail coming to choreograph for New Directions. Along with the free heaters the Twolegs put up in McKinleyClan’s camp every winter, the Cheerio performances also got the Clan some free cat food in times of hunger, and if we got enough, it could equal the hares he asked for without us having to go through the trouble of hunting them. But, dear StarClan, if Longtail refused to accept the wet cat food that we were gathering, I couldn’t blame him. The stuff is pure crowfood. As I carefully washed the hat in the sprinklers, I overheard a conversation between Yellowfang and Spottedleaf, who were standing a few fox-lengths away from me. “You know, I really misjudged you, Yellowfang,” Spottedleaf was saying. “Getting your Cheerios to perform to help the Glee Club hire Longtail is one of the nicest things I’ve ever seen.” “Well, medicine cat,” replied Yellowfang, “I’ll do whatever it takes to make New Directions successful.” “Sometimes, when I was an apprentice, I would sneak around here and dance around on the Twoleg monsters, and then I would help the Twolegs wash them, it was so much fun—” “Using your mental illness to help these apprentices is really inspiring. I’m shocked you don’t have a mate.” “Um, I’m a medicine cat.” “Ah, right. Such a sad, sad life.” I finished washing my hat, put it back on my head, and trotted over to my fellow Glee Club apprentices—not gleeks yet, according to Fireheart—who were standing by the Twoleg monster while the Cheerios rested and the Twolegs adjusted their lawn chairs and went back inside their nests to get more popcorn. “Ugh, my hat still smells disgusting,” I growled to Hollypaw. “May StarClan damn that cat food.” Hollypaw sniffed my hat and rolled her eyes. “It smells fine, Stormpaw.” “Yeah, well, I’m dropping it back off at camp before we go hunting.” “Listen, Stormpaw, this is, like, the third time we’ve gone on a patrol together. Why don’t we just make it official?” “Make what official?” “You know, that we’re future mates.” I opened my mouth, then closed it when I fully realized what she had said. I had hoped that it was not going to come down to this, but she was my friend. It was the right thing to tell her. “I’m sorry, Hollypaw, but I thought I made it very clear.” I paused, not sure what to say. She blinked and stared at me, waiting for me to finish. “I’m in love with someone else,” I meowed, glancing at Crowpaw, who was talking to Squirrelpaw and the other Cheerios. Hollypaw saw where I was staring and then looked me straight in the eye. “Featherpaw?” I looked over and saw that Featherpaw was now standing in front of Crowpaw, practicing her voice exercises for the umpteenth time. “Yes,” I lied. “For several moons now.” For a few heartbeats, Hollypaw and I stared at each other. Then…I don’t even know what happened. One moment, the cowboy hat was perfectly on my head. The next, Hollypaw had grabbed it in her teeth. And the next, it was sailing towards the window of the Twoleg monster. And the next, broken glass filled the air. Click here http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=61168291 to watch Hollypaw and the Cheerios perform “Bust Your Windows.” “You threw my hat into the window?!” I yowled. “How could you do that?! That was my favorite hat! And now the Twolegs will hate us! You busted everything!” “Well, you busted my heart,” she meowed simply. As the Cheerios and other cats screamed as the Twolegs threw rocks and empty soda cans at them, I watched as she disappeared silently into the forest. Crowpaw’s POV “Please examine your personal diets,” meowed Longtail in his high-pitched voice, giving us each a leaf with pictures of food on it. “This is what you’re going to eating for the next few moons.” “Mine just has a picture of honey,” mewed Hollypaw. “Do you know how hard it is to get honey?” “Yep,” squeaked Longtail, then was silent. “What’s smelt?” asked Featherpaw. “A pungent, fresh-water fish you can find in the river,” replied Longtail. “Your mentors have probably referred to it as the ‘stinky fish you don’t bother to catch because it smells so bad.’” Featherpaw wrinkled her nose, looking thoroughly scared. I wanted to lean against her, but I restrained myself. “Let’s get things done today,” continued Longtail. “Ravenpaw, you’re cut. You’re not trying hard enough.” “At what?” asked Ravenpaw. “At walking properly,” growled Longtail. “We can’t have you wheeling around during every performance. It throws off the whole dynamic, and it’s depressing.” “So you’re kicking him out?” asked Hollypaw. “Yep,” Longtail mewed again. “You, too. You’re a little too chubby.” In response, Hollypaw hissed and unsheathed her claws. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Longtail hopped back in alarm. “You can’t throw them out of New Directions because of how they look!” snarled Stormpaw. “Calm down, Kit Face,” meowed Longtail. “You look like you might burst into flames and set all of Carrionplace on fire. Horrible place to practice, by the way.” He looked at the three Cheerios. “You three are perfect. Seriously, don’t change a thing.” They giggled in response. Somehow, I found Squirrelpaw’s purr less amusing. “And you.” Longtail approached Featherpaw. “Ugh, your nose is huge.” “Hey, wait a moment—” I growled. “What was that?” teased Longtail. “Wipe that dopy look off your face and stop dragging your tail on the ground.” “What’s wrong with you?” I spat. “What’s wrong with me?” he repeated exasperatedly. “The question is, what’s wrong with you? You’re freakishly huge! I feel like a woodland creature!” I blinked, never feeling so ashamed in my life. “Am I hurting your feelings?” asked Longtail. “Did I say something wrong? Because I thought you wanted a cat who respected you enough to tell you the truth. You wanted a cat who wouldn’t lie to you, and say you’ve got what it takes. Because from what I can see, you don’t! So take a moment, take a breather, and ask yourself: do you want to be a winner, or not?” “Enough!” I yowled, padding towards the entrance to Carrionplace. “I quit.” “Me t-t-too.” “Let’s roll, Ravenpaw.” Mothpaw, Hollypaw, Ravenpaw, and Stormpaw followed right in step behind me. “Great!” mewed Longtail brightly. “Separate the weak from the strong!” “Wait!” The five of us turned around and saw Featherpaw staring back at us. “Barbra Streisand,” she meowed. I blinked, wondering where I had heard that Twoleg’s name. She was a famous singer, right? “When Barbra was a young star, everyone told her she needed to change her nose.” Featherpaw glanced at Longtail and twitched her ears. “Where is this going?” he growled. “Where it’s going is that…” She looked at us, and then back at Longtail. “We don’t need you. Let’s face it, we’ll never be as good at dancing as Vocal Adrenaline. We’re going to win because we’re different, and it makes us special.” She twitched her whiskers at me, and I did so in return. No matter how annoying she got, no matter how creepy she was with her obsession with Twoleg singers and getting the solo for every song, Featherpaw truly was a star in her own way. And that’s what I liked about her. “They told J. Lo her booty was too big,” meowed Hollypaw. She trotted back over to Featherpaw and stood beside her. “Curtis Mayfield became more successful after he became paralyzed.” Ravenpaw wheeled himself over to the two she-cats. Mothpaw and Stormpaw followed him. I named one of the few Twolegs I knew. “The one-armed pitcher for the Yankees.” “I have no idea what any of that means,” muttered Stormpaw absentmindedly. “So misfits and cripples can make it too,” growled Longtail. “What’s your point?” “Our point is,” meowed Featherpaw, “you’re fired. And I’m taller than you.” “Just barely,” he muttered. Featherpaw and I glanced at each other, and we knew we were all one step closer to being gleeks. Fireheart’s POV Did you know there’s actually a secret cave under the Great Rock, which is where we were allowed to warm up before the performance? I didn’t know it, either, but I wasn’t thinking much about that. As with all performances, I had butterflies in my stomach. “Do we have to wear Twoleg makeup?” Crowpaw asked Tigerclaw, who was smudging mascara on with a gnarled claw. “Darkstripe says it makes our eyes pop,” meowed Tigerclaw. “The deputies and guards the leaders brought with them are she-cats, right, Flame Shoe?” asked Bramblepaw. “Relax, guys,” I mewed. “Take a deep breath. You’re going to remember this night for the rest of your lives.” “Fireheart—” began Crowpaw. “I know, you’re nervous.” “No, that’s not what I wanted to tell you. I just wanted to say thanks, for believing in me.” I twitched my whiskers and blinked in gratitude at my apprentice. “HE’S HERE!” Darkstripe scurried into the den. “Ashfur is here! Up in front, big eyes, cute as a kit. I vomited.” “He’s actually here?” I asked. “I can’t believe he showed up!” “Forget every experience you have ever had in your boring little lives,” whispered Darkstripe. “THIS is the most important thing you will ever do! PLACES!” Click here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFzBstPdsBM to watch the Acafellas perform “I Wanna Sex You Up.” Obviously, there’s mature content. I closed my eyes and bowed with the other toms as I let the cheering wash over me. The other cats’ enthusiasm ranged drastically—Yellowfang barely mewed, while Spottedleaf (who came along just to see our performance) was yowling hysterically—but it didn’t matter. I actually felt StarClan’s rays on me for the first time since…since… Since I was in Glee Club. That realization made me numb as we walked back to the den, Onestar giving us nods of approval (except for Darkstripe) as we disappeared inside. There, waiting for us, was Ashfur, with a tough-looking rogue by his side. “Hey, guys,” meowed the gray-speckled tom. “I’m Ashfur. This is my bodyguard. I was around the Clan territory, so I thought I’d stop by and say hello. Which one of you is Darkstripe?” “Here!” Darkstripe raised a paw. “Ashfur, we are so honored you came here.” Ashfur sighed. “I came here to tell you to stop following me around Twolegplace.” I felt each of our faces sink as we heard that. “Stop stalking me!” he continued. “It’s creeping me out! We just bumped into each other at Twolegplace, we never got to know each other.” “It’s crazy,” added the rogue. “By the way, toms, great show,” purred Ashfur. “I mean, like, explosive.” I nodded. “Sorry about all the trouble.” With that, Ashfur and his bodyguard left, leaving Darkstripe with the saddest face imaginable and the rest of us feeling more confident than ever before. When the leaders were done with their meeting, we all headed back to our respected Clans. Sandstorm met me halfway between Fourtrees and the camp. “I’m sorry, Fireheart,” she whispered, licking my ear. “I could have been more supportive. I could hear you guys singing all the way from camp, and it was actually pretty good. You were good, especially. You were really good.” “Yeah,” I breathed, purring. She twitched her whiskers in amusement. I wrapped my tail around her own, and I felt her lean her head against mine. “Why bother?” a voice meowed behind us. “She’s all ready going to have kits.” I looked up to see my father approaching us, looking more proud than I had ever seen him. “Have you seen Willowpelt?” he asked. Then he seemed to notice something behind us, and his jaw dropped. “Oh, dear StarClan.” We all turned and saw my mother and Ashfur. Talking. In a certain way. “You might be wondering, why would a famous cat like me come over to talk to you?” mewed Ashfur. “Well, let me tell you something: crowd of screaming apprentice she-cats don’t do it for Ashfur. Ashfur likes a silly warrior she-cat.” “You have to forgive me,” belched Willowpelt. “I drank a little too much fermented berry juice back at camp, and I’m not making good choices right now.” “Well, I guess I’ll be going.” Before I could figure out what she was doing, she had already disappeared into the forest. Whitestorm just shook his head at my mother and gestured with his tail towards camp, implying that we should walk there together. “You guys were pretty amazing tonight,” he mewed, leaves crunching under his paws. “I heard about the whole Ashfur thing—not the one with him and Willowpelt, but how he only came to warn Darkstripe about stalking him.” “Oh, it’s alright.” I shrugged. “Did you see the other four? How are they taking it?” “Darkstripe yowled himself to sleep as Onestar comforted him, and Tigerclaw went hunting. I think he forced the two apprentices to go with him. And how about you? Are you alright?” “You know what, Whitestorm,” I meowed. “I am. This was all a dream come try, but I’m a warrior, and a mentor, and the director of Glee Club. And that’s enough for me.” “I know,” he purred. “I’ve seen the way your apprentice looks at you—all the apprentices in Glee Club. You inspire them. You inspired me.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “I’ve decided to train to become deputy,” he meowed, sticking his chest out proudly. “It might be a while before the spot’s available, but when it is, I want to be the first choice. I want the Clan to trust me again. You made me realize it’s never too late to gain your confidence back and follow your dreams.” “That’s amazing,” I purred, teasingly shoving him with my paw like I did when I was a kit. “That’s so amazing.” “Whoa, careful there!” Whitestorm staggered from the shove, then rumbled a purr of laughter. “We’re both not as young as we used to be!” We both chuckled as we made our way back to camp. Hollypaw’s POV I found Stormpaw by the fresh-kill pile, eating a vole in his usual mannerly way. “Hey, Stormpaw,” I greeted him warmly. I glared briefly at me, then kept his eyes back on the vole. “I just wanted to say, I’m really sorry about what I did to your hat. I found ten new ones at the Carrionplace. I could try them on with you if you’d like.” He looked back up at me, and I was glad to see his whiskers twitch. “That’s okay,” he mewed. “My father and Onestar banned me from wearing hats after he found my diamond collection I keep in my nest in the apprentices’ den.” “And I also just wanted to say, good luck with Featherpaw,” I purred. “You’ll have some cute, loud kits together.” Hoping that my apology had been enough, I turned around and headed back to the apprentices’ den. It was pretty late, after all. “Hollypaw!” I whipped around. Stormpaw was staring at me more serious than ever before. “I lied to you,” he meowed, padding up to me. “I don’t like Featherpaw.” I blinked, not understanding. “I don’t like she-cats, as a matter-of-fact,” he continued. “At least not as mates. And I suppose from there you can figure out who I do like.” “Why didn’t you just tell me?” I whispered. He didn’t respond. His blue eyes looked like dark clouds, about to burst out drops of rain. “I’ve never told anyone before,” he mumbled. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are, Stormpaw,” I meowed. “Especially around the apprentices in New Directions. The whole point of the club is expressing who you are. Remember, Stormpaw?” “I can’t.” His voice wavered, but it still carried that playful purr I loved about him. “I guess I’m just not that confident.” He took one last bite out of the vole and trotted swiftly to the apprentices’ den. I stayed at the fresh-kill pile and watched him leave, still a little sad about how Stormpaw and I would never be future mates, but proud of myself and for Stormpaw for the little moments that we had come to find were just as important as the big ones. Yellowfang’s POV “Let me get this straight,” I growled. “Glee Club got rid of Longtail, Fireheart is back, and they’re working on a new number, more confident than ever?” Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw nodded solemnly. “This is what we call a total disaster, she-cats! I’m going to ask you to smell your behinds.” Slowly, they bent their flexible bodies around to smell their tail end and drew back in disgust. “That’s the smell of failure,” I hissed. “And it’s stinking up my den. I’m getting rid of your grooming privileges for the rest of your training.” Leafpaw let out a yowl of despair and scurried out of the den, while my own apprentice looked like she would melt onto the floor. “Yellowfang, I want to thank you,” she mewed. “For what?” “For teaching me a valuable life lesson: if you really believe in yourself, you don’t have to bring other cats down.” Fireheart’s POV I felt warmth in my heart as we finished up our rigorous practice, and every cat in New Directions, including Thornclaw on the piano, looked more cheerful than ever. Except for one apprentice, who raised her tail in the air. “Yes, Featherpaw?” I asked, waiting for the criticism. She stared at me for a moment, then purred, “That was really good.” The other apprentices laughed and let out yowls of approval. “Alright, from the top!” I yowled above them.